Actions

Work Header

How to Tame a Stray

Summary:

Tooru"s girlfriend breaks up with him at a cat cafe. Enter Tobio-chan, determined to befriend some kitties, and possibly cheer up an Oikawa-san in the process.

Notes:

for marina vi and yr... because i owe you all fics and you deserve to have them written (AND THEY WILL BE WRITTEN SO HELP ME!) but my brain isn"t working like it should...

so in the meantime, this oneshot i wrote to get the creative juices flowing again is dedicated to you guys! just some silly oikage and a little bit of a hand fixation. as a treat. hehe.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The taste of strawberries and yuzu prickles at the tip of his tongue.  There’s a light, nondescript jazz song playing over the radio, something mellow and smooth and utterly forgettable, punctuated by peals of girlish laughter and the occasional ding of the cash register situated at the front of the store. 

At the bottom of the glass sitting opposite his own, a set of manicured pink nails taps impatiently over the table.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Each time her pinky nail catches the light, the polish flashes pure white.

“I just don’t think things are going to work out, Oikawa-kun.”

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Her lip gloss is almost exactly the same color.  When she pauses and her mouth sets back into a wobbly little line, he averts his gaze beyond that seemingly insurmountable distance which in reality spans no more than the few feet that separates their chairs, settling back onto her hands.

Soft.  Uncalloused.  Dainty, and several times smaller than his own. 

When they’d first started dating, still stuck trading their coy flirtations, it’d been the thing they’d both fixated on: how his were so strong, and hers so delicate, and how he could envelope hers so nicely.

Now, he can’t remember the last time they held hands.

… Huh.

“I just… I want to be with someone who understands me.  Someone who makes time for me.  We never have time to meet up anymore.  I just...”

Tooru wets his lips.  “Yeah.”

She curls her palms around the bottom of her drink, a drop of condensation racing down the glass and over the arch of her index finger.

Oikawa-kun.  Your nails are so nice, she’d once said, almost wistfully.  They’re almost prettier than mine.

He’d given her a winsome smile and squeezed her hand.  I have to keep them neat for volleyball.  If they’re uneven, it makes it hard to keep my tosses precise, and…

And then, his mind had caught up. 

But of course they’re not prettier than yours, he’d crooned.  Yours are the prettiest.

“— Oikawa-kun.”

He snaps to attention, their eyes locking only for a second before he glances away, cursing himself silently.  “Hm?”

“Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?”

Don’t I, he thinks.  If he were crueler, he might tell the truth; might press on: But weren’t you the one who said you didn’t mind if I was busy with the team?  Didn’t you say you understood?  Where did all that sentiment go?

Only— maybe he is cruel enough, maybe it’s just that he doesn’t care enough to start a fight, not when the outcome’s hardly worth fighting for.

“You’re right,” Tooru says with a smile.  “It’s best that we end things here.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, leveling him with a half-hurt glare.  Just as he thinks she’s about to snap, instead she wilts and then shakes her head.  Perhaps she’s thinking better of it, too.

Maybe that was the problem this whole time.  They were just a bit too similar, but only ever in all the ways that didn’t matter.

“I’ll see you around,” she breathes.

And then she stands, grabbing her purse.  The little blur of her hands catches the light, pink polish flashing white; her hair twists as she turns, sending the scent of her familiar shampoo cutting through the air: once soft and sweet, now cloying, bitter.

The door hinges creak, and a puff of cold air from outside sneaks in.  He doesn’t watch her go, only turns back to his drink.  The ice is half-melted now, anachronistic flavors of summer now diluted and weak.

Fitting, Tooru huffs, twirling his straw about. 

There"s a gnawing ache at the pit of his stomach, but it"s certainly not from surprise at the outcome, not when he"d suspected this was the reason Rin had insisted so vehemently that they meet this weekend all along.  He"d made the mistake of opening the text message right after practice on Thursday, when the others were still around; and of course Makki and Mattsun had chipped in with their unsolicited two-cents:

Well, it lasted longer than we expected, captain!  Let us know what happens, okay? 

He"d been surprised by the interest, and oddly touched by their care.  Then Mattsun had given him a thumbs-up and a toothy grin and then soundly shattered the illusion.

"Cause if you don"t get dumped, then we owe Watari ramen next time we go out for lunch.

God, those assholes.  

He"s drafting his most convincing text message and appending a number of playful kaomojis to the end of it when the bell on the front door of the shop clatters, the sound of chimes overpowering the stereo overhead.  Instinctively Tooru glances up, before turning back to his text.

Rin-chan just wanted to chat with me~~

sorry to disappoint you two but

— But.

Tooru falters, fingers hovering over the keys.  And he looks up once more, freezing as his gaze settles on the rigid posture of one painfully familiar and uselessly adorable former underclassman.

“Tobio-chan!” Tooru blurts before he can think better of it.

A pair of bright blue eyes lock onto his, narrowed for just a second— and then they widen, round and earnest with shock.

“Oikawa-san!”  Tobio flinches back, retracting his hands close to his chest as if he"s been caught pilfering from a safe.  “I wasn’t— it’s not what you think!”

“What’s not what I think?  What do you— why are— oi,” Tooru hisses.  

Tobio pauses in his attempt to flee back out whence he came, still staring at Tooru like a deer caught in headlights.  Realizing that this makes him the metaphorical semi-truck (ever the villain where it comes to Tobio-chan, isn’t he), Tooru tsks. 

“Why’re you running?  It’s rude to leave when someone’s talking to you!”

The younger flushes, his reddened cheeks contrasting sharply with the grey-blue of his fluffy scarf.  Despite the way he hunches over and into his coat, it’s still not quite enough to hide that characteristic little pout of his, the way his upper lip peeks out over the top of his collar.

Cute, Tooru thinks. 

Then promptly, he kicks himself under the table.

“Sorry,” Tobio mumbles, though he doesn’t sound very sorry, but at least he seems unaware of the tortured expression Tooru’s fighting to keep off his face.  “Um.  Hi, Oikawa-san.”

“Hi,” Tooru repeats through gritted teeth.  “What are you doing here?”

Tobio’s nose wrinkles at the diminutive.  “... Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I was just in the neighborhood, and I was… well…” Tobio glances at his feet, shuffling a bit.  His fingers twitch where they’re gripped tightly onto the bottom of his sleeves.  “… I was just curious when I passed by.”

“Uh-huh,” Tooru intones.  “Just curious about what could possibly be inside of a cat café?  Isn’t it self-explanatory?”

Tobio splutters something unintelligible, then manages a frantic, “I didn’t— I’m not here for the cats!”

Tooru snorts.  “Sure you aren’t.”

Tobio bites his lower lip, looking as if he might implode. “I swear, I just…”

Tooru waves a hand, but the younger visibly deflates.  His blue eyes are suddenly glassy, his scowl shifting into a definitive frown. 

“… Well, um.  Since I was just checking, and there aren’t any seats…” Tobio swallows.  “Er, sorry to take up your time.  I"ll see you around, I guess.”

Tooru clicks his tongue.  Before he can change his mind— and before Tobio can run out the door— he sighs. 

“Sit down, Tobio-chan.”

The younger blinks.  “What?”

“Sit.  Down.” 

When Tobio doesn’t, still gawking, Tooru glares.  “You’re not fooling anyone.  I’m about to leave, anyway, so you can have my table when I’m done.”

“... Really?”

Tooru groans.  “Just hurry up.  I’m losing brain cells rapidly from this conversation.”

Tobio frowns, but by the look on his face the mental calculus of yielding to Tooru’s insults is outweighed by the benefits of accepting his senpai’s help.  Hesitantly, he lowers himself into the chair and begins fumbling over the top buttons of his coat while looking around the shop cautiously.

Tooru grabs a menu and slides it over the table.  “Here.  You need to order something if you want to play with the cats.”

“Oh." Tobio blinks, owlish, and accepts the peace offering.  "Um, thank you.”

As Tooru nurses the last of his lemonade, poking at the ice cubes with his straw, he half-listens as Tobio orders something far too sweet and too saturated with milk and cream to legally constitute coffee.  On a whim, Tooru orders a shot of straight espresso.  He can"t help the smug expression spreading across his face when the drinks come, especially as Tobio"s eyes flicker between their mugs.

See that, Tobio-chan?  This is what a mature adult orders!

And Tooru drinks his espresso, doing his best not to shudder at the acidic burn at the back of his throat.

"Oikawa-san," Tobio says.  "Do you like cats?"

Tooru blinks.  Then he sets his glass down on the table.  "What?"

"You know." Tobio gestures around them with one hand.  "Since you"re hanging out here.  With the cats.  Do you like them?"

Ah.  Tooru sniffs delicately.  "They"re okay.  I"m only here because I..."

Tobio tilts his head like a confused duckling.  "Because?"

"... Because it was convenient," Tooru finishes shortly.  "I wanted something to drink, and it was cold outside."

The younger frowns.  "Then why were you drinking a lemonade earlier?"

"What is this, interrogate Oikawa-senpai day?"  Tooru huffs, crossing his arms.  "Drink your milk and shush, Tobio-chan!"

To his credit, Tobio— despite being extremely uncute— is nothing if not obedient to his upperclassmen.  The younger shrugs and sips at his coffee-flavored milk, turning a little to face the back of the shop, where a shelf full of cat toys sits adjacent to a massive cat tower pressed against the wall. 

Most of the cats are hiding away in the cubbies, with the few that"ve ventured out busy playing with the other patrons sitting in the dining area.  There"s a particularly friendly white cat that"s circling around the room, slinking in between people"s legs.

Tobio twists around in his seat so he can watch it move about, only to sag a little when it skips over their table.

Tooru stifles a laugh into the back of his hand, but Tobio pays it no mind.  His bright blue eyes are trained fixedly on an orange tail flicking lazily to and fro, hanging from the lowest beam of the cat tower looming from the back wall.

“What about you?”

Tobio turns back, eyes wide.  “What?”

Frankly, Tooru’s just as surprised at the question.  He adjusts to rest his head in his hand, pretending to cover a yawn.  “Y"know.  Cats.” Tooru swallows, wincing at the bitter taste in the back of his mouth.  “You’re watching them pretty intensely.  You like them?”

After a beat of thoughtful silence, as if Tobio’s trying to figure out whether or not the question’s the first move in a long-standing game of thinly veiled psychological warfare, the younger relaxes a bit, and then nods. 

“Um.  Yes.”

Ever the conversationalist.  Tooru rolls his eyes.  “But you"re not going to play with them?"

And he doesn"t think it came out mean-spirited, at least for Tooru"s own standards, but still Tobio deflates, looking as dejected as he always used to whenever Tooru would rebuff his requests to teach him after practice.  

“I like them, but— they don’t like me," Tobio admits.  He"s fiddling with a napkin, folding the corner and unfolding it restlessly.  “... I"m not good with animals.”

“The precocious Kageyama Tobio, not good at something?  Oh, be still my beating heart.”

The younger furrows his brow.  "Whatever."

Tooru downs the rest of his espresso, then pushes the glass toward the edge of the table.  “So that’s why you came here?  Wanted to make friends with something that couldn’t run away for a change?”

“… And if it is?”

Tooru just shrugs.  “Then that’s pretty funny, Tobio-chan.”

Tobio huffs, his cheeks flushing a particularly pleasant shade of pink.  He tugs at his scarf, and—

Tooru swallows, eyes raking over the matching tones of Tobio’s well-kept fingernails.

... Oh.

 

What had he told Rin?  Something like—

Your hands are the prettiest.

 

Tobio finishes adjusting his scarf, resting his arms over the edge of the table.  His fingers fold neatly together as if meshing against the well-worn leather of an old volleyball. 

It"s a mise en scene of contradictions: the saccharine bite of artificial sweeteners mixing together with the affectatious harmonies of a song Tooru will undoubtedly forget as soon as he walks out the door, once this fever dream of a Saturday afternoon is gone and put behind him.  Yet for all that this is a certainty, in this moment here and now the two sensations prove inordinately potent, almost suffocating.

It"s perfect, isn"t it?  He"s not even bitter about it.  Everything"s just an amorphous backdrop against which those instruments of destruction are contrastingly poised: sharp, graceful precision and merciless elegance, as characteristic of that starved ambition as they are of the boy himself. 

Not a modicum of excess movement or wasted energy to be found.  Even the subtlest motions carry with them the carefully honed edges of purpose and strategic calculation, just as pronounced here off the court as they are on.

Vaguely, Tooru muses, whoever said that the eyes were the windows to the soul could not have imagined the ferocious little thing that Kageyama Tobio would become, not with the hands of god at his disposal.  Otherwise they surely would have recanted.

"Tobio," a voice orders.  Belatedly, Tooru realizes that the voice is his.  "... Your hands."

"Huh?"

"Your hands," repeats Tooru, holding out his own expectantly.  "Let me see them."

Several beats of silence pass, their eyes locked in an unspoken battle of wills: Tobio, resisting the urge to thoughtlessly comply, his face scrunched in confusion; Tooru, resisting the urge to take it back, to take the coward"s way out.

Tobio"s expression remains bewildered, but slowly, he acquiesces. 

Reaching over the table— inch by inch, second by second, each moment passing in gut-twisting anticipation (why, why, why)— finally, their palms make contact.

Warm, is Tooru"s first thought. 

His second is that Tobio"s hands are soft; softer than expected for a boy"s, and softer still than expected for an athlete"s.  Fingers thin but sturdy, and with the barest hints of calluses at the curves of his palms.  His wrists, too, are startlingly slim. Tooru wonders, were he to circle his thumb and index fingers around them if his fingers might touch; then he wonders how many hands Tobio"s held before, only to conclude that the number must have been zero up until today. 

He wonders when these hands first made contact with a volleyball; how long they had to work until the essence of innate talent brimming under the surface was able to take root, no longer held back by the necessary prerequisites of latent muscle memory.  He wonders if these hands are as gentle when put to work at other tasks, if Tobio"s handwriting is as lovely as his toss.  He wonders, too, how these hands might feel in other places. 

Cradling his cheek.  Resting on top of his shoulder.  Clutching at the back of his shirt, clawing at his sides, and then...

And then—

Tooru wonders— how hard he would have to squeeze to get these hands to break.

Not that he would; of course not. 

... He would never.

 

But— one can"t help but wonder about these things.

 

"... Oikawa-san?"

A sharp exhale escapes his lips through clenched teeth.  Promptly, Tooru snaps back to reality, flashing Tobio a toothy smile.  

"It"s just like I suspected, Tobio-chan," Tooru chimes.  "You"ve got the hands of a barbarian."

Tobio scowls and rips his hands back.  "That"s what you were checking for?!"

"But of course!  I had my suspicions, so I needed to make sure!"

"Keep that to yourself," grumbles Tobio, his ears tinting pink.  "I didn"t ask for your opinion."

"Tobio-chan, you"re always asking for my opinion."

The younger mumbles something back, but it"s unintelligible.  "... Why"re you still here, anyway?"

"Excuse me?  That"s so rude!  After I let you sit at my table, you"re really—"

"You said you were about to leave," Tobio interjects hotly.  "That"s why I— I thought you were just gonna finish your drink!  That"s the only reason I sat down!"

Tooru gapes.  "You really are the biggest brat I"ve ever had the displeasure of having to—"

"Me?  You"re the one who lied, and then you held my hands just to call me a—"

"I did not hold your hands, Tobio-chan!" scoffs Tooru, with all the dignified bravado of a man who absolutely held Kageyama Tobio"s hands, and worse, even enjoyed it.  "Don"t flatter yourself!"

Tobio scowls, his brows furrowing so deeply that the comforting thought occurs to Tooru— innate talent be damned, Tobio will undoubtedly end up getting wrinkled by the tender age of thirty if he keeps this up.  "You did too hold my hands."

"Did not," Tooru retorts.

"... Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too, and you even—"

"Tobio-chan, I swear to god—"

"Mewwrl!"

The words die in the back of Tooru"s throat.  In sync, they freeze, staring at each other with wide eyes.  And then simultaneously they turn to acknowledge the visitor who"s popped in at their table. 

"Oikawa-san," breathes Tobio.  "Oikawa-san, look!"

The younger"s trembling, red-faced and wide-eyed, the picture of starstruck awe.  It"s as if Nicholas Romero or someone of the like just popped into the cafe to declare he would be signing autographs for free.  

"We"re in a cat cafe, Tobio?  Don"t look so surprised."

The orange and white-striped tabby mews again, its curious green eyes studying the two of them intently.  Its tail flicks from side to side.

Ginger, reads the tag on its collar.

Tobio makes a strangled noise.  "But— it approached us!  Us!"

"Um, yeah?  That"s the whole gimmick."  Tooru frowns.  "Aren"t you going to play with it?  I thought that was the reason you came in."

Ginger"s ear twitches, and Tobio flinches back.  A sardonic bark of laughter escapes Tooru, just as Tobio sends the older an imploring look, his blue doe-eyes all wide and watery.

"I... I don"t know how."

Tooru laughs again.  But then he stops.  "Oh my god, you"re not joking."

Tobio glowers.  "Why would I joke about that?"

"Why would you be serious?" Tooru rebuts.  "It"s just a cat!  How can you not know what to do?"

"It"s not my fault!  They usually don"t let me get so close— this is the first time I"m within arm"s reach of one!"

"You"re so hopeless, it"s not even funny."  Tooru runs a hand through his hair and sighs sharply.  "So, so useless.  So uncute!"

"I don"t want to be cute!"

"Well, good.  "Cause you"re not!"

Before Tobio can snap back at him, Ginger makes another noise, as if to remind them he"s still there and waiting for attention.  

Another needy creature. 

Tooru huffs.  "Fine, Tobio-chan.  Looks like your wonderful Oikawa-senpai will have to teach you how to get by yet again—"

"Again?  You"ve never taught me anything before—"

"Shush, Tobio-chan!" Tooru holds up a hand.  "Watch closely!"

Tobio gives him a dirty look but obediently closes his mouth.

And Tooru, with an inordinate degree of dramatic flourish for a task a mundane as giving a cat a pet— reaches forward and lets Ginger sniff his hand.  A pink nose gently bumps at his knuckles, once, twice, three times, and then...

There"s a low rumbling sound, and a fuzzy head bumping at his open palm.

"See?" Tooru can"t help the smug satisfaction that seeps into his voice.  "Animals love me."

As if in agreement, Ginger purrs.  Tooru rewards the cat with some chin scratches and it practically keens.

It really is a charming creature, Tooru thinks with a smile.  Cute, obedient, and once you"ve earned its trust, quite playful.  It bats at his hand gently, and he coos at it in response.

"See, Tobio-chan," Tooru repeats breezily, "That"s all there is to it, you just need to..."

The words catch in the back of his throat.

Ginger mewls curiously at him, but Tooru doesn"t spare the cat a glance.  Not when Tobio"s staring so intensely, all awkward determination and starry admiration, mouth rounded into a little "o" of delight.

It"s a sight so familiar yet so distant now that it"s almost disorienting, because of course in Tooru"s mind, little Tobio-chan always looks this way, has only ever existed as that cute underclassmen who watched him with such fervent inspiration, even when little Tobio-chan of course grew up to be not-so-little and not so sweet.

You talk about him like he"s a pet.  It"s rude, Iwa-chan had once scolded him.  Just teach him once in a while.  He genuinely wants to be around you.

You don"t understand, Tooru had responded.  If you feed a stray once, he"ll come back every day.

And Tobio"s not some harmless little thing.  A stray, sure, but one with a voracious appetite, one that has the capacity to grow into something dangerous, something monstrous.  An animal that wouldn"t hesitate to bite down on the hand that feeds it, and then venture further after drawing the first drops of blood. 

One bite catalyzes another.

Just one more. 

One more...

The end will only come once there"s nothing left to take from Tooru.

 

"Would you teach me, Oikawa-san?"

 

There"s a dull ache in his ribcage. 

"... Oikawa-san?"  Tobio tilts his head to the side, his outstretched hand wavering, as if he"s unsure whether he did something wrong.

Tooru clears his throat.  "... Sure, Tobio.  Just... scooch in a little closer."

The younger blinks.  Then, nods.  "Uh, okay."

They rearrange their chairs so they"re both situated a bit closer to the edge of the table, Ginger sitting in between them.  The cat eyes them curiously, but makes no move to flee.

"Um, try and hold out your hand first," Tooru recommends.  His face feels a bit warm, made heated by the intensity of Tobio"s watchful eyes.  "Let him get used to you."

Tobio nods.  Stiff as a board, he obeys, his arms rigid.

Ginger glances at the proffered hand.  Then he glances at Tooru inquisitively, as if to say, Is this guy for real?

Tooru sighs from his nose.  "Loosen up.  You"re so serious it"s scary, even for me."

"O-Oh."  Tobio relaxes the barest amount.  "... Like this?"

"If that"s really the best you can do, then just hold still.  Wait for him to check."

And Tobio does.

It"s almost comical how he freezes like a statue while staring fervently at Ginger, practically screaming without words:

HERE KITTY, HERE KITTY, PSPSPSPS.

After what feels like an eternity, Ginger finally seems to throw Tobio a bone; if not out of some approximation of mercy, then surely out of pure boredom or a lack of anything better to do.  The cat presses forward, sniffing at Tobio"s hand.  Its pink nose wrinkles.

"Oikawa-san," Tobio whispers.  The look on his face is not unlike his expression after he lands a no-touch service ace.  "Oikawa-san, it"s happening!"

Tobio"s so focused on the cat that Tooru"s own amused (delighted) smile goes unnoticed.  "Don"t get too hasty, Tobio-chan.  He hasn"t even let you pet him yet."

"Should I try to pet him?"

Tooru frowns.  "Why"re you asking me?  You can think for yourself once in a while."

"But you"re the expert," Tobio replies, sparing Tooru a hopeful look.  "Is it too soon, or should I wait, or...?"

Oh my god.  

From the looks of it, Ginger doesn"t seem to particularly mind Tobio being near him, so Tooru makes a split-second decision with his usual air of confidence.  "I think now would be fine.  Just be gentle."

Tobio nods, taking a deep breath.  

Staring down the poor cat as if it’s personally wronged him, Tobio reaches forward with a trembling hand— his wide palm, those slender and elegant fingers, and those perfectly trimmed nails shaking from pure nerves.  From Tooru’s perspective it’s laughable.  Endearing, even. 

But clearly, Ginger disagrees.

All rapport goes out the window as soon as green eyes lock onto blue.  As if on cue, there’s an affronted, guttural hiss; then, a blur of orange and white fast as lightning, and—

"Ow!"

Tooru flinches as if he"s the one who got scratched, faster than Tobio himself reacts.  The younger pulls his hand back and cradles it protectively against his chest, his eyes wide and expression twisted with betrayal. 

Unapologetic, Ginger makes a warning sound, his back arching and fur standing on end, before he quickly bounds away, retreating to the safe refuge of the cubbies.

Tooru"s already on his feet.  "Tobio!  Did it scratch you?"

The younger shakes his head fervently, but the watery sheen of his eyes and the twitching of his fingers could not be a clearer indication of the truth.

"God, you"re such a shit liar," Tooru mumbles.  He extends a hand, giving Tobio a pointed look.  "Let me see."

Tobio hesitates, his blue eyes gleaming under the light. 

 

If you’re going to hit it, then…

 

Tooru sucks in a deep breath.

“Tobio,” he says firmly.  “Let me see your hand.”

It"s always Tooru who"s been one step behind, hasn"t it?  For all that their respective roles in the chase might suggest otherwise, deep down, they both know the truth.  Every second he considers slowing down, just enough to let his pursuer grasp at the shirt on his back, it"s still only ephemeral, a conviction that"s wavering at best if it"s to be found at all. 

Tobio, on the other hand, is anything but.  After all— a boy who chases only does so because he knows what he wants, knows that running after it is the only way to get it.

As if with understanding, Tobio looks at Tooru.  Looks deep.

Then he gives Tooru his hand.

"Okyaku-sama!  Are you all right?" the cashier calls, hurrying toward their table.  "I"m so sorry.  Did Ginger scratch you?"

"It"s fine," Tobio mumbles, just as Tooru confirms, "He did."

Tobio sends Tooru a look, but Tooru ignores it.  He smiles at the cashier.  "Would you mind bringing a first-aid kit?"

"Of course!"

Tooru inspects the scratch, running a few inches horizontal over the back of Tobio"s hand.  The skin"s red.

A large white kit is set on top of the table.  When Tooru raises his head, the worker"s back, looking between the two of them cautiously.

"Would you like some help?"

Tobio opens his mouth but Tooru"s faster, as always.  "I"ve got it, this is fine."

"Oikawa-san," Tobio tries to cut in.  "I don"t—"

"I"ve got it," Tooru repeats cheerfully.  "Thank you for bringing this along."

The cashier pauses, looking at Tobio, then Tooru, then back at Tobio.

"... Well, if you"re sure," she agrees, stepping back at the dismissal.  "Let me know if I can get you anything else.  Apologies again."

She bows, and Tooru nods his head at her, waiting until she"s returned back behind the register to reach for the kit, pulling open the clasps with one hand.  Tobio sharply exhales as Tooru rummages through it for a large bandage and some antiseptic.

"Oikawa-san, you really don"t have to.  I can take care of it on my own."

"Shush, Tobio."  Tooru grabs a tube of ointment along with a plaster and sets it on the edge of the table.  "I"ve seen you try and dress your own wounds before.  You always do a sloppy job."

Tobio"s brows shoot up to his hairline.  "What?  When?"  Then he scowls.  "I do not do a sloppy job!"

"Uh-huh.  There was that time at Kitagawa you fell on our campus run," Tooru points out.  "Your knees were all scraped, and I had to give you a piggy-back ride, and when we got back to the infirmary you insisted on doing it on your own but it was terrible, and Iwa-chan gave me an earful for trusting you to—"

"Oh my god, you remember that?  I was just—"

"Of course I remember!"  Tooru snorts, uncapping the tube of antiseptic.  "Iwa-chan kept accusing me of purposefully letting you injure yourself, as if I couldn"t beat you when you were able-bodied!"

Tobio glowers, his upper lip stiffening.  "... Obviously you wouldn"t do that."

"Duh.  That"s what I told him."

The younger huffs a little, his hand relaxing a bit in Tooru"s grasp.  "... Sorry."

"What"s done is done," Tooru dismisses.  "Anyway, I"m not going to let you run off with an injured hand.  You need to be in tip-top shape when I crush you and your little team, otherwise it"s not as fun!"

Tobio grunts.  "You really are awful."

"Sweet talk will get you nowhere, Tobio-chan!  Now hold still."

He rips open the disinfectant wipe and gently presses it over the scratch.  Tobio makes a little hiss of displeasure.

After discarding the rubbish, Tooru peels the plastic wrapper from the adhesive part of the bandage, then applies the antiseptic to the gauze.  He measures it up over the scratch mark, careful.  The warmth of Tobio"s hands radiating over Tooru"s palms is almost sweltering.

How hard to squeeze to get them to break, Tooru wonders not for the first time.  How much gentler to earn back trust after they"ve been broken..?

The bandage goes on neatly, almost anticlimactically so.

Tooru stands, balling up the trash and closing the first-aid kit.  "Keep it wrapped up."

Tobio looks at the back of his hand, wide-eyed.  "Um.  Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

"No, really," Tobio"s insisting.

But Tooru"s already halfway sliding back into his seat, and he"s rounding the edge of the table— or at least he is, up until something pulls him back by the hand. 

A startled sound escapes him, just as blue eyes meet brown.

Tobio swallows, practically shaking.  But he doesn"t look away, doesn"t back down from the challenge; nor does he retract his hands from where they"ve latched onto Tooru"s.

Stubborn, stubborn boy.

"Thank you, Oikawa-san," Tobio says softly.  "I... I really appreciate it."

Maybe it"s because Tooru"s had too much caffeine.  Maybe it"s because the entire afternoon"s been a surreal haze, starting from the lowest of lows and snowballing into this oddity of a meetup, as serendipitous as it is calamitous; maybe it"s because the time spent with an object of affection"s bled into time spent with an object of envy and disdain, that Tooru"s getting confused between the two, letting boundaries dissolve and categories overlap where they absolutely shouldn"t, but—

"Tobio.  Has anyone told you— you have really pretty hands?"

He"s not even lucid enough to register the horror and humiliation that such a confession should rationally incite.  He"s just— staring at Tobio, staring at those wide blue eyes, staring at the purse of those pink lips, and— waiting, waiting, waiting.

And of course, Tobio will never let anyone outdo him, not without a fight.

 

"They"re— they"re not as pretty as yours, Oikawa-san."

 

It"s not beauty Tobio sees, Tooru knows.  Not the supple slopes of Tooru"s knuckles, the rigid arches of his fingers; not the powerful grace of his tendons as they move to squeeze back in this awkward hand-hold they"ve found themselves in, standing still in the corner of this strange, unthinkable place.

These hands are simply the means to their ends.

The precision of a perfect toss.  The sharp curvature of a palm molded against the face of well-worn leather.  The same starved tenacity that fuels one to claw his way to the top with perfectly kept nails, in what to everyone else seems a facade of careful beauty rather than the necessity of efficiency.

Tooru knows what Tobio sees. 

He knows it, because—

 

 

 

"Oikawa-san," Tobio breathes.  His hands are quaking.  "I just..."

Tooru shakes his head, shifts away a bit so that the crooked quirk of his lips is halfway obscured.  Before Tooru pulls back he gives Tobio"s hands a squeeze, firm enough so that the younger will feel it but not enough that he won"t go back and forth over whether or not he imagined it.

"I"ll see you on the court the next time we meet," Tooru smiles.  "Take care of that hand.  Don"t disappoint me, Tobio."

 

 

 


 

 

 

The unfinished text message from hours before stares him in the face.

 

 

Rin-chan just wanted to chat with me~~

sorry to disappoint you two but

 

 

Tooru stares.

He presses a finger over the backspace button.  Presses down. 

Once, twice, three times, four— doesn"t hold it down even though that would be so much easier, instead deletes each character one-by-one.

 

His inbox houses two unread messages.

Did you cry, captain?, the first text reads.

 

Kinder is Iwa-chan"s message which sits directly below it.

Hanging in there? 

 

 

Bag over his shoulder, fingers twisting over the unfastened top buttons of his coat, he settles on his answer.

 

 

 

 

To: SJ 4

yeah.

i think i"ll manage

 

 


 

 

 

 

Notes:

bizarre premise + even more absurd execution! the author is as confused as you are that the premise of catcafe oikage turned into..... this.

oikawa would DEFINITELY be the kind of guy who flirts like, "let"s compare hands teehee~~ omg mine are so big compared to yours"
he realizes this, and realizes that he basically did THAT with tobio at the cat cafe. the realization keeps him up at night for 5 years until he and tobio end up together and then all is well again.

OH YEAH. feel free to say hi on twt @acchidocchi_